The Haarlicae
by Thingy Person
Summary: A mock epos devoted to the Eyepatch of Epicness and his noble mount.


Oh Muse, recite me the tale of a unit more epic than any other. Grant me inspiration to honour the man who, with his inconic eyepatch and eternally groggy demeanour, tanked entire armies, yet still managed to find time to take naps in-between battles. Sing to me about Haar, the Black Tempest, the Dusky Dragonlord, the Narcoleptic Sceptic, and his omniscient mount.

Sing to me about the relentless ebon force that crosses the gap between friend and foe and presents itself among its adversaries, lying in wait, provoking, drawing out malevolent souls, acting as a martyr for other, insignificant legacies, only to reveal its hidden teeth when the enemy makes a futile attempt at harm. Many are the poor souls who have met their disgraceful end through this hubris.

Sing to me about the kindred ebon force that risks its terrible, albeit unlikely, demise to secure the perseverence of lesser beings. It is this force that has saved an unrightfully renowned hero from a hopeless battle against a phantom from the past, thereby fulfilling the prophecy of an exalted chancellor's advent. At the brink of death, that hero was beckoned to the heavens, and was granted the priviledge of experiencing divinity, elevated by the ancient force's fleshly embodiment, despite its hidden contempt for the lesser being now compromising its potency like a looming imperfection.

But the man and his wyvern, they hadn't always being hax like that. There is a very clear starting point for this tale.

In the beginning, there is nothing, aside from thin air, puddles of condensated water drifting through the void, and some entities of white and red conversing in the most ancient and prevalent of all methods of communication: violence. White is supposedly the 'good side' – if only because the tale would be over too soon if they died – and is taken aback by the opponent's might. They are in dire need of assistance.

An ebon coloured wyvern knight grazes the scene of the battle. He is an unimposing middle-aged man with little ties to the meaningless skirmish nearby, instead tied to unimportant goals of his own, for which he is also unmotivated. The man, being an ordinary human being, yawns. Although Haar has come into play, there is no divinity yet.

A distortion. A very fickle action that would set the wheels of fate in motion: Haar looking to his right.

"Please tell me that's not what I think it is. Oh, this is perfect. Begnion dracoknights? Just my stinkin' luck."

The hippocrisy is amusing. Despite his claims of spite, he lingers around, instead of carrying on with his own pathetic way of life. The wyvern knight is unstatisfied with his current context, and seeks out trouble for a new one. Does he truly believe that he does not wish this?

Still, there is no divinity. Haar approaches the futile battle, but the relentless force is not there. He remains there idly, expecting a twist of fate to come to him. In this state, he is as if translucent. Passive, unnoticed. But a pawn from the self-righteous White wishes to intrude.

--

"Look who's here! It's Haar!"

The wyvern rider cocked his head to the side. "...Hello, Marcia. I see you're still flopping around on that floating mutant donkey reject", he said, his lust for entertainment far drowning out his longing for battle.

Marcia's face turned sour. "And I see you still haven't ditched that shit-faced piece of... Oh, crackers, I don't have time for this!" Haar frowned. _I would've liked some more entertainment..._

"Open that one good eye of yours and take a look around, will you? Those Begnion dracoknights have invaded Crimean skies! You've got to help us save the laguz they're trying to kidnap. Well, c'mon, Haar!"

"Me? Why? I owe the queen a favor or two, but I'm not one of her soldiers."

And so, the eyepatched dragonmaster kept posturing, enjoying the opportunity to humiliate the falcon knight.

"Come on, Haar! Do I _have _to make sense?! You're just doing this because I'm not a wyvern rider with a red ponytail, aren't you?"

Haar made tiny splits of his eyes. "That's not helping much."

"Please, they're a tough bunch!" She was pleading now. "And I'm all alone... I don't think I can manage to protect Queen Elincia. Please say you'll help... If only for the safety of the queen..."

Haar rolled his eyes. "Oh, _fine._ Because you asked so profusely", he replied, with a strong hint of cynicism.

Marcia's expression shot up in glee. "Squeee! Thanks, Haar! I take back all the mean things I was thinking about you earlier." And with that, she went back to Elincia's side, leaving Haar to roll his eyes yet again.

--

It is on this single moment...that all begins. As green turns to blue, neutral black turns to decisive ebon. Divinity has arrived. No longer are there meaningless white and red; it is the Begnion Dracoknights assaulting the Queen and an innocent heron. They are now significant enough to be referred to as such. Why? Because Haar has aligned himself. The massive force has found a point of entry. And that unstoppable force will only grow as it is put to use.

--

"Well... If it isn't Zeffren. What brings the dracoknights into Crimean skies?"

The previously unsuspecting boss-man snapped around fantically. "Haar?!"

"Why couldn't you just stay on patrol? Saw a pretty little heron and just had to have her, is that it? I never could decide if you were more greedy or more corrupt. Randy was never in question, though."

"Who do you think you are?! You're a traitor, just like Shiharam! The dracoknights spit on your name!"

The ex-Daein curled his lips in disgust at the disrespect for his former master. "...Do they now? Well, here's your chance to try the real thing."

The dracoknights behind Zeffren began to chuckle menacingly – _like schoolgirls or the losers bullying them_ – and attacked Haar one by one.

--

The first omen that heralds the coming of a force unseen. Haar is unstoppable. Godlike. A prepromote who grows further yet. Zeffren is impressed as he sees his little platoon murdered. And yet, he is only impressed that Haar is an exceptionally good wyvern knight. He does not recognize the sheer epicness of the being that is Haar, for the dracoknights are too puny a match for the godlike force to display its full potential. The force has been seen, but it is also...unseen.

--

"Argh! What- My wyvern!"

He was falling. Zeffren's wyvern had been crippled by Haar's skillful strikes. It was making pitiful flaps to try and stay airborne, but soon, it would give up altogether.

"Grab my hand!" The ebon clad dragon warrior reached out a hand. Zeffren, though plagued by resent and embarassment, protruded his strong arm, for his left hand was still pulling desperately at the crimson wyvern's reins.

"Yoink!"

It happened in a flash. It took a while for Zeffren's mind to register. He recalled that his arm was burdened with something before, and that that burden was now gone. Haar had swiped his axe. The insidious rider threw a playful wink at his prey with his tongue stuck out, and began to back away. The first thing Zeffren experienced was accute bemusement. Then anger. And then fear.

He was losing altitude. "_Haar_!!", he pleaded, in a final attempt. Haar made no sign of complying. The wyvern drew its dying breath.

"Ugh... Aaaaaaaagghh!"

--

Not only did the wyvern rider of epic proportions save the day, he also made his impressive growth appearant and obtained a powerful ranged weapon to boot!

Alas, he must retire from the scene for now. Some chapters that are out of the context must make their pitiful drag toward completion. Fortunately, word of the eyepatched warrior's intervention has reached Begnion ears, and he will have to abandon his insignificant little business for the time being. Divinity is preserved, for now.

--

Haar hated watch duty.

Yes, he would rather sleep, and he did prefer to engage in painful drags such as conversing with nobles and eating and shitting rather than staring at something that isn't there, waiting for it to pop up after all, and only for the purpose of knowing if it was there in the first place.

But Haar _would not doze off._ He had made a promise. This is simultaneously the main reason for his dislike. Being caught sleeping is hardly embarassing. Some may consider it so, but Haar didn't. Every being on Earth sleeps, and it wasn't Haar's fault that he fell asleep at the most inappropriate of times. What he really considered embarrassing was the odd state of half-sleep.

While awake, swallowing, breathing, and all those other small things are achieved through habits. The person is aware of those tasks, but carrying them out is a simple duty. When asleep, the subconscious takes over completely, even the person's awareness. When Haar performs watch duty, he gets so bored he experiences it as sleeping. And then the misery begins. He forgets he is not sleeping. He forgets to breathe, he forgets to swallow, he forgets to scratch his ass, and he is unaware of his forgetfulness, still focusing on his watch duty. Haar would feel increasingly uneasy for a few seconds, then realise with a shock that his face had turned blue, causing him to gasp for air, relenting his gaze for a few moments. By then, it could've been too late. Whatever Haar had to watch out for could've appeared and disappeared within those few moments, and he would spend the rest of his shift wondering wether it had. Until he was relieved. He never cared aftwards, only wanting to catch some sleep.

But that wasn't the worst part of it.

While near-suffocation is quite unpleasant, it also warrants some privacy. Only nearby watchmen would notice. Haar could pass it off as having swallowed something the wrong way. But when he would forget to swallow... While Haar was no man of particular etiquette or personal hygene, he believed he had standards. Standards to not let your drool escape your mouth all the way down your neck. Maybe if he had more time to reconsider would he have cleaned it away with his hand, but he never could resist his primary instinct in such a situation. Each time, it felt as though it could be heard for miles.

"SLUUUUUUUURP"

Haar goddamn hated watch duty.

--

Supposedly, this next little skirmish will be a decisive battle in the current arc of history. At its core, however, it is merely another meal for Haar.

The landscape is brisk. The multiple sections of the field are seperated in height. The complete abscense of movement cost is the only thing that defines this battlefield as being of artificial nature, rather than a canyon or the terraces on which the Chinese grow their rice. And here we have a lovely Queen – queen of Mary Sue-land – who can, appearantly, solo the chapter all by herself, but she insists people form a wall so that her useless subordinates can mooch off some kills. Of course, she needs the help of Haar.

The great Wyvern Rider is positioned atop a flight of stairs, tanking a series of Crimean whatnots lining up before him like schoolboys. Yes, there are thunder mages – and thunder scares the living crap out of Haar – but due to the enemy army's glaring ineptitude, they would never reach their target in time. Turns fly by as Haar fells foe after foe, occasionally switching to a javelin to dispatch some swordmasters – who couldn't damage him to begin with – a little faster. Then he gets the cruel hammer of reset on him, as a worthless peon on the other side of the battlefield succumbed in their attempt to tank as Haar does.

What ho? Here are some units from the previous chapter! Contrary to the other side characters in this tale, they have varying degrees of epicness. I see Kieran, the stoutest warrior from the group, whose every spoken word is made out of awesome and win, and Danved, who fights like ten gentlemen. Also present is their commander, of a considerably less noteworthy calibre, and their bowman, a slab of fail dipped in a bucket of fail made out of more fail yet. And last but not least: Makalov, the knight with the horrendous colour scheme. By a whim of the gods, he is now Level 13, stronger than any of the others, because he practically soloed his chapter as to rival Haar in his awesomeness. Let him try, says I.

It is already turn 15! Shall the pathetic boss be defeated in time, or will the world be subjected to a horrible plot device instead?

--

"Ah, queen Elincia."

"Ludveck."

Duke Felirae put on his unfashionable helmet to prepare for battle. "I must commend your bravery. Knowing you, I figured you would be hiding in your castle – or pleading for your life."

Elincia struck with Amiti – twice, because something about her holy sword made her arm flail even more wildly than it would otherwise – and shaved off a quarter of the boss' health. Ludveck retaliated with his Tomahawk, but missed disgracefully. Elincia commenced pounding on him again, bringing him down to half. And lo, Makalov arrives. He has burned through almost all of his swords, retaining only a Steel Blade and a Killing Edge that is near breaking. He gallops up to Ludveck, points one sword at him, shakes his head, tries the other, and concludes that he is still too much of a pussy to finish him off normally. You know what that means?

--

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--

Makalov strikes with the Killing Edge, simultaneously the first and twenty-fifth time, and criticals Ludveck in his sorry face. It appears he, too, must posess some dubious item to break the laws of nature, as he does not die, instead asking to be taken captive. Regardless, Makalov reaps the benefits of his endavour, growing to a glorious Level 15.

Alas, it appears Haar was too busy following orders, and now the tomahawk he so desired is in the hands of a knight who cannot wield it until what is likely to be the end of the game. Still, glory awaits him in the next part, where he needs only fly into a bunch of enemies and watch them grovel at his mighty mounted feet, as well as performing heron-assisted homocide on a narcissistic paladin, thereby one-turning the whole chapter, to the grief of his allies who would rather have earned some more experience for themselves.

However, my observations end here. My hernia is acting up again...

* * *

_Note that I am currently doing a "Use every SS weapon" playthrough, in which Makalov goes to endgame, hence I abused him to great lengths. He can oneround almost everything. Haar can't come, though._

_  
So, I hoped you enjoyed my little piece of writing. This is a one-chapter story, not only because I couldn't possibly keep the incredibly biased narrator up for the whole game, but also because I'm _probably _going to write a larger fic that will start somewhere in Part 3 (haven't decided where yet) and will go on for the rest of the game._

_Also, Haar will be sad if you leave no review or one that has absolutely nothing interesting to say. Makalov doesn't mind either, though, because you reading this is enough to make his head explode from all the attention._


End file.
